


Moved on from Whispers

by wishingonalightningbolt



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Bottom Derek, First Time, House Party, Jock Stiles, M/M, Nerd Derek, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 11:18:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishingonalightningbolt/pseuds/wishingonalightningbolt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s not dumb.  Out of everyone in the school, Derek is second in grades only to Lydia Martin, and the only reason Stiles is third is because he’s taking more APs than Derek, so his grades are suffering the slightest bit.  That’s why Derek knows, when Stiles arches an eyebrow at him, why what he said was so incredibly dumb.</p>
<p>Stiles didn’t break into Lydia Martin’s upstairs bathroom to take a piss.  He broke into Lydia Martin’s upstairs bathroom while Derek was in it, because—because of reasons.</p>
<p>-0-</p>
<p>Stiles is tired of pretending like and Derek don't want each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moved on from Whispers

Derek is washing his hands when the door opens.  He knows he locked it, knows because he double and triple checked it and heard people pounding on the door, eager to use the toilet and upset that Derek was actually utilizing the privacy mechanisms.  So, understandably, he’s a little startled when Stiles Stilinski ducks in and locks the door all over again.

“What,” Derek says dumbly.

Stiles holds up a lock-pick.

“Why am I surprised?” Derek mutters.  “I—you couldn’t hold it?”

He’s not dumb.  Out of everyone in the school, Derek is second in grades only to Lydia Martin, and the only reason Stiles is third is because he’s taking more APs than Derek, so his grades are suffering the slightest bit.  That’s why Derek knows, when Stiles arches an eyebrow at him, why what he said was so incredibly dumb.

Stiles didn’t break into Lydia Martin’s upstairs bathroom to take a piss.  He broke into Lydia Martin’s upstairs bathroom while _Derek_ was in it, because—because of reasons.

Ever since his sophomore year, there’s been this thing.  It started with competitiveness, dealing with each other’s eagerness to best the other.  It doesn’t really make sense, considering Stiles is a senior who’s probably going to get into Yale and Stanford and every other school for geniuses in the country, especially since Derek is only a junior.  He still has another year to go at Beacon Hills, even if after that he’s probably set for life too.

Stiles is the athletic, charming, unendingly sarcastic and witty boy who still pulls As in his classes and dazzles his teachers with his presentations.  Derek is the intelligent, calculated, painfully shy kid who has a 4.5 GPA and rides a bicycle to school.  There is absolutely zero reason in the world for Stiles to like him, and yet—

There’s been a bit of teasing.  Flirtatious teasing, not bullying crap.  Stiles is notorious for taking down bullies, especially with Scott around.  (Scott is easily the most popular kid in school.  Captain of the lacrosse team, absolutely gorgeous and genuinely compassionate.  It only makes sense that he and Stiles are best friends.)  Still, Stiles will see him down the hall, wink at him just to see him blush.  He says it’s like they have their own elf in California, since the blood just goes straight to the tips of his ears.

Stiles will walk him to class after lunch.  He’ll catch him in the locker room after gym—during which period Stiles has AP Calc BC, but ditches the last five minutes of every day because he’s getting the highest grade in the class and has a seat next to the door—just to talk to him and watch him when he takes off his shirt.  It’s embarrassing, and if it were anyone else Derek would be incredibly uncomfortable, but Stiles is—nice.  More than anything else, Stiles is nice.  And one thing that Derek knows is that Stiles wouldn’t be a dick to him on purpose, would never do anything Derek didn’t want him to, and that’s why he feels good around Stiles.  That’s why he likes Stiles.

“Are you drunk?” Derek asks, blinking at Stiles’ eyes for any hint of intoxication.

“Nope.”  They look perfectly clear.  “Are you?”

“No, I got here like ten minutes ago.”

“I know, I saw you come in.  I’ve been trying to find you.”

There’s a pounding at the door.  “Hey, c’mon, man—I gotta go.”

Stiles kicks the door back.  “Go downstairs,” he hollers, not bothering to look away from Derek’s face.

“No,” Derek argues, “we should go—”

“You didn’t say you were gonna be here tonight.”

“I—my lab partner, Erica, she invited me—”

“You know whose house this is, don’t you?”

Of course Derek does.  Everyone does.  Lydia Martin is not only the most intelligent girl in the school, she’s the most popular, most gorgeous, and most famous for throwing parties when her mom goes away.  She also dated Stiles for a hot second last year, just before prom.  They broke up three days after the event, and even though it was a dramatic affair to the student populous, it was apparently nothing to them.  They’re still close friends, and she’s now dating that surname-less lacrosse player, Aiden.  Derek thinks even teachers don’t know his last name.

“Lydia, duh.”

Stiles nods.  “Exactly.”

“So?”

“So—this isn’t really your type of thing.”

Derek won’t pretend he’s not disheartened.  Part of the reason it was so easy for Erica to talk him into coming was the fact that Stiles was going to be there.  He knows their flirtations don’t really stretch beyond school conversations and the occasional Facebook message, but he’d thought—

“I was wrong,” Derek says softly.  “I’ll just go.  Sorry.”

“What?” Stiles snaps.  “No, no, that’s not what I said.”

“I get it; you don’t want me to mess up your thing, that’s fine—”

“Jesus Christ, Hale.”  Stiles grabs him by the shoulder.  “For a smart guy, you can be pretty dumb sometimes.  What I meant,” he says with an exaggerated sigh, putting both of his hands on the back of Derek’s neck now, “is that I’ve never seen you at one of these things before, and you should’ve told me.  So that we could’ve come together, and I wouldn’t have had to spend the last ten minutes looking for you, when we could’ve been doing this.”

Stiles has never kissed him.  There has never been anything so abrupt or obvious in their relationship.  Derek figured, of course, that Stiles was at least kind of interested, considering the way he looked at Derek and the way he talked to him, but he’s also shocked in this one moment, when Stiles’ mouth covers his.

Derek has kissed people before.  He kissed girls in kindergarten, and in elementary school, and even two girls in middle school, although they had been playing Spin-the-Bottle.  Then, of course, there was Danny, who he had kissed his freshman year.  He knows it was a pity kiss on Danny’s part, but he still kind of appreciates it.  His most recent kiss was last year, though, from a college girl named Kate.  It was drunken and unhappy and not a positive memory, considering the circumstances. (Upset over Stiles’ hot new relationship with Lydia, Derek had wandered into the nearest party he could find, which happened to be one full of a bunch of community college students. It was a good thing Kate didn’t know he was only 16.)

Still, this kiss is the greatest kiss Derek has ever had.  Stiles is patient and tender and passionate, yes, but he’s also not pushing, and it’s romantic, crazy romantic, even though it’s happening in the bathroom of a house he’s never been in before.

“I didn’t read this wrong, right?” Stiles asks suddenly, mouth only centimeters from Derek’s.  “I mean, you want me, right?  Because I know I flirt with you a lot, but you never really respond and you also never tell me to shove off, so I don’t really know what’s happening.”

Derek nods, arms wrapping around Stiles’ neck.  “I want you,” he says.

“Oh, thank fuck.”

Stiles presses them up against the counter then, bodies very, very close, and Derek knows that Stiles must be able to tell how hard he is, just from one little kiss.  He wants to apologize and blush his way home, but Stiles doesn’t give him enough air to get the words out, so he just shifts his hips away and keeps kissing back.

He slips off his jacket for self-preservation.  No one likes sweaty pits, and the room is heating up by the second.  It’s not his fault that Stiles takes that as a sign to start inching his hands up under the front of Derek’s shirt.

“You’re really hot,” Stiles whispers.

“You—I—have you seen yourself?”

Stiles chuckles.  It’s so attractive that his knees almost give out.  “Well, there is a mirror in here, so.”

“Don’t be a smart ass,” Derek quips.  “Just kiss me again.”

“I can do that.”

He’s high on Stiles’ mouth and hands when they fall away.  It’s like being dumped in a cold bath—except not literally because he’s still hard.  It’s just that now his neck is chilled and his mouth feels tingly.

“It’s totally cool if you wanna take things slow,” Stiles says, hands tentative on his hips, fingertips under his T-shirt and thumbs over the denim, pressing into his hip bones.  “One-hundred percent cool if you just wanna walk out of here and go have a drink and maybe make out before I take you home.”

Derek wonders briefly for a moment if he’s going to regret it when he asks, “What’s the other option?”

“I could suck you off.”

“Shit.”  Derek makes a fist with his right hand, pressing it into the cool bathroom counter.  He has to look away from Stiles for a second, get his head out of his dick.  “I—shit.”

Stiles is smirking.  “I’ve been thinking about it ever since I first ditched class to blatantly watch you change in the locker room.”

“I went home and jerked off after that,” Derek’s mouth is saying before his brain can catch up.  “Shit.”

“You can stop saying that now, Der.  We don’t have to.”

“As far as I’m concerned,” he says breathlessly, “we’ve been taking it slow for over a year.”

Stiles’ grin makes Derek feel a little dizzy.  He’s absolutely breathtaking, looking at Derek like he moved mountains or made the sun decide to shine.  “Yeah?”

“I—I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do—”

“Don’t be an idiot, Hale,” Stiles says briefly, leaning into kiss him again.  “Now just—stay there.”

Stiles keeps Derek’s hips pinned easily.  He’s incredibly strong, something Derek can’t help but appreciate as he watches Stiles go down to his knees.  He’s wearing a white T-shirt with a dark-blue border around the collar and the sleeves, and Derek loves that shirt, wants to pull it off of him with his teeth.

“I’ve never.”

Stiles nods, nuzzling at Derek’s happy trail.  His cock twitches in his jeans.  “It’s okay.  If I ever do anything you don’t like, you can just stop me.”

“Do you—I mean, do you—should we—”

Stiles arches an eyebrow, lifts his eyes.  “What?”

“Should we use a condom?”

“Kind of you to be concerned,” Stiles says, with a twinkle in his eye.  “I will if you want me to.”

Derek shakes his head.  “I’ve never.  Had sex.  With anyone.  So I’m—I’m good.”

Stiles hesitates for a moment at that, but he has to have known that, Derek thinks.  He has to have known that Derek’s never done any of this—he’s a 17-year-old history geek who gets off at night thinking about a hot lacrosse player fucking him into oblivion.  He never really thought it would happen.

“I like you a lot, Der,” Stiles tells him, fingers stroking his skin patiently.  “My feelings for you won’t change if you don’t want to do this.”

“I told you—I’m game.  Really.  I—I really want you.”  Derek licks his lips.  “A lot.”  He’s gone to half mast with the stress of it all, but he doesn’t doubt that he can get it back up again, especially with Stiles leaning in to kiss the bit of skin at the top of his waistband.

“Okay,” Stiles whispers into his stomach.

“You just have to let me return the favor.”

“Oh, fuck,” Stiles moans.  “Deal.”

They’re both trembling just a little bit while Stiles undoes his belt and unbuttons his jeans.  His hands are a little shaky, and Derek wants to ask him, but his own arms are acting like earthquake simulators, so he figures it’s just a nervousness thing.

This is the first time he’s going to be naked in front of anyone since he was a toddler.  And this is the first time he’s going to be naked in front of anyone for sexual purposes.  He has to grip the edge of the counter to get a hold of himself, closing his eyes.

It turns out that makes it worse, because he lets out a filthy moan at the first hint of contact to his cock, vastly unprepared.  Stiles’ hand is inside of his boxer briefs, wrapping around his dick and pulling, just once, like it’s an experiment.  Derek’s knees shake.

“ _Ohmygod_.”

“I can’t believe no one’s ever touched you like this,” Stiles says to his cock, leaning in to press his lips to it.  Derek wonders if closing his eyes really is worse, because he thinks he could come just from the picture Stiles makes, pink lips taking their time on the skin.  “Fuck, you have a nice dick.”

“I—thank you?”

Stiles squeezes his thigh.  “It’s okay if you come quickly.  We’ll just have to do it a few more times to build up stamina.”

Derek curses, his head falling back.  It has to be easier to look away, let Stiles explore as much as he likes, cross his fingers and pray that he doesn’t make a total ass out of himself.  Honestly, though, he wants Stiles’ mouth on him so much.  He isn’t sure he really cares how quickly he comes.  He feels like he’s been waiting forever.

Stiles doesn’t give him any warning.  He doesn’t know why he expected any, but one moment Stiles is whispering sweet nothings to his balls and then half of his cock is in Stiles’ mouth, his lips getting ever closer to the base with every passing second.  He knows he’s making noises, knows that he’s moaning and cursing and hisses Stiles’ name, knows that this is the kind of thing people spread rumors about, but it’s so worth it in this instant.  He doesn’t care if everyone knows.

It’s wet and slobbery and Derek has imagined a lot of blowjobs over the years, but—but nothing.  His imagination is nothing compared to the real thing, compared to Stiles with his hands on Derek’s hips and his mouth on his cock, pushing further between his legs and moaning so that Derek can feel the vibrations all the way through his body.

That’s the thing that does it, honestly.  He’s thankful he even lasted this long, even though he’s sure it’s only been a handful of minutes.  He tugs on Stiles’ hair, moans at way Stiles spreads his knees like he’s trying to relieve his own cock.

“I’m gonna—ohmygod—Stiles—”

He thinks he can see the moment Stiles makes up his mind to ride it out.  He can’t be sure because he’s pretty out of it right now, but there’s something about the way Stiles hesitates just long enough before carrying on with renewed vigor.  His fingertips dig into Derek’s ass and his throat opens up, and Derek just comes, biting on a couple knuckles to keep from screaming.

When Stiles moves back, he shuffles away on his knees and reaches into his jeans, grabbing for his cock.

“Wait,” Derek says, dropping down next to him, forehead tipped against his shoulder.  “Wait—wait—I want—”

“I know,” Stiles hisses, hand working himself over.  “I know, I’m sorry, I just—soon, okay, I just can’t take it right now, fuck.”

So Derek nods and keeps his hands on Stiles’ stomach, dick still hanging out of his jeans.  Stiles’ cock is wet with pre-come and his hand is moving so quickly that it looks painful.  He also looks like he’s going come any minute, and even though Derek is nowhere near full intelligence capacity at the moment, he has the presence of mind to lift up Stiles shirt, all the way to his neck, so that when Stiles cries out and comes, leaning into Derek, it splatters on his stomach, but not on his shirt.

It’s the pounding on the door that shakes them.  They’re kneeling on the floor of the bathroom, come dumb and woozy, and Derek can only blink at Stiles while the guy outside demands they open the door.

“Shove off!” Stiles shouts, and promptly yanks Derek into a kiss.

“The bathroom isn’t for you to get your rocks off, man!” the guy calls back, and Derek laughs as he reaches for the toilet paper, wadding up a clump to clean off Stiles’ stomach.

It’s only a minute before they’re clean enough to be seen in public, and so Stiles stands, pulling Derek with him, even picking Derek’s jacket up from the floor.

“Well,” Derek starts to say, preparing himself for Stiles’ inevitable and speedy departure from the party.

Stiles puts a hand over his mouth.  “Not so fast, Hale,” he scolds.  He unlocks the bathroom door, pulling Derek by the hand behind him, and Derek doesn’t see anything but the back of Stiles’ head until they reach a bedroom.

 

* * *

 

It’s much quieter in here, far away from the music and the people, and Derek can’t help but slump a little bit in relief, walking over to the bed and sitting at the edge of it.  He tugs a hand through his hair, messing up the carefully-applied product, but he figures it doesn’t really matter that much.

“I can see you freaking out,” Stiles tells him.  He’s not sitting down next to Derek, and Derek knows that’s because Stiles knows that if he did, Derek would probably dissolve into a panic attack.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, you idiot.  If you didn’t want to do it—”

“Of course I wanted to!”  He stands, hands clenched at his sides.  “That’s not what I’m freaking out about.”

“Oh.  Then what?”

Derek licks his lips for what feels like the hundredth time in the last twenty minutes, and Stiles reaches into his jeans, pulling out a tube of Chapstick.  Derek blinks at it for a second before he takes it.  It’s the green apple kind, and it smells like a Jolly Rancher.  “I don’t want this to be it,” he says when he hands it back.

Stiles shrugs.  “It’s not.  Why would it be?”

“We never talked about it.  It was only ever just flirting and teasing and—”

“And one wickedly awesome blowjob?” Stiles asks with a grin.  “You should’ve seen your face, dude.  You looked like you were gonna bust a nut.”

“Great, really attractive.”

“It was cute.”  Stiles does walk over to him then, putting his fingers through the belt loops by his hips.  “You’re cute.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

Derek didn’t actually mean for that to come out.  Sure, he’d been thinking it when Stiles led them away from the bathroom and into an abandoned bedroom, but—but he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.  Still, he’s a teenager, and his dick is already dutifully stirring, despite having gotten off only minutes earlier.

“Whoa, wait,” Derek continues.  “I meant—fuck, no, I mean, yes.  I meant that, I mean that, I want that, but I don’t necessarily—I just mean right now, we don’t have to right now—”

“It’s overwhelmingly endearing when you babble.”  Stiles kisses him, slow and sweet.  “I really came in here so we could talk.”

“Okay.”

“We can fuck afterwards if you want.”

Derek’s ears go warm.  “What did you want to talk about?”

“Anything.”  He nuzzles Derek’s neck, kissing and sucking as he goes.  “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.  You looked scared.”

“Everyone’s going to know what we were doing.”

“I’ll tell them to fuck off.  No one will say anything.”

“Your dad’s a cop, Stiles.”

“And your mom’s a lawyer—is there a connection?”

“We’re at an underage party, drinking alcohol and—”

“Neither of us have had anything to drink,” Stiles interrupts, “and yeah, we fooled around in a bathroom.  Big whoop.  Most of the school has done worse shit than that.  Hell, there are people downstairs right now who are probably having sex on couches in front of everyone.”  He looks up, meets Derek’s eyes.  “I’ll drive you home if you want.”

“No.  I want to stay.”

“Okay.”

“Have you ever fucked anyone?”

Stiles looks down at Derek’s lips.  He nods.  “Yeah.”

“A guy?”

“No.”

“Lydia?”

He’s silent.

Derek pushes into his arms.   “Is this her bedroom?”

“Yeah.”

“Does she have lube in here?”

Stiles groans, soft and almost inaudible.  When he presses up against Derek, he’s hard.  “Bottom drawer of the nightstand, behind the—fuck.  Behind the vibrator.”

Sure enough, when Derek looks, there’s a tube of lube, tucked behind a shiny pink vibrator.  There’s also several strings of condoms and a couple Plan B pills.

“Planned Parenthood,” Stiles explains.  “They give that shit away.”

“The vibrators too?”

Stiles grins.  “Probably not those.”

It’s easy to go into Stiles’ arms, kiss him for long, languorous moments.  It’s even easier to push Stiles shirt up and convince him to take it off.

“Do you have any idea how fucking stunning you are?” Derek asks him, hands on his torso.  “I feel like I’m touching _David_.”

“If you were touching David, I’d be pretty jealous.”

“I mean—you know what I mean, dumbass.  Michelangelo.”

“Oh, sure.”  Stiles captures his mouth again, walking him back towards the bed.  The lube and condoms are waiting by the pillow, and Derek is already kicking off his shoes, 110% ready to go.  Stiles, all hard muscle and gorgeous charm, crawls on top of him when they finally make it onto the mattress, and Derek never thought he’d get to watch as Stiles Stilinski undressed him.  Maybe he’s drunk and passed out in Lydia’s walk-in closet.  Maybe this is all some evil, evil fantasy that he’ll wake up from, covered in his own spunk and smelling of desperation and loneliness.  Either way, he’s happy he’s experiencing it now.

When Derek is naked, Stiles takes a lot of time appreciating his body.  He won’t lie—it’s a huge confidence boost.  He knows he’s not as ripped as a lot of guys at their school.  Small towns don’t leave much to do except read and exercise, but he’s more a fan of the former than the latter, so he’s healthy, but he’s not as toned as Stiles or some of the others.  If Stiles notices, he doesn’t say anything.  He just kisses down Derek’s chest and stomach and thighs, cupping his calves while he slides Derek’s socks off.

“I’m really glad it’s you,” Derek tells him when they’re both undressed, kissing with only the slightest bit of impatience.

Stiles blinks at him.  “I’m glad too, Hale.”

It should feel impersonal, Stiles calling him by his last name, but it’s—it’s a nickname, he supposes.  It’s just Stiles has always called him, accompanied by a grin or a wink.  (Unless, of course, he’s calling Derek “Der”, which is just as comforting and encouraged.)

Stiles’ body on his feels nice, safe.  He’s only a little bit nervous when Stiles turns him over and spreads his legs.

“I’ve only ever done this to myself,” Stiles mutters, “so you’ll have to talk me through it.”

Derek moans into the pillow he’s burying his face in.  “I can do it.”

“No, I want to.  I want to learn how you like it.”

If that’s not the biggest turn on in Derek’s short life, he doesn’t know what is.  His cock is standing at attention, eagerly awaiting Stiles’ dutiful fingers to begin their work, and when the first one slips in, slick and cold with lube, Derek twitches.

“Sorry, should’ve warned you.”

“It’s okay.”

Stiles is perfect at this.  Derek doesn’t know why he’s surprised—Stiles is perfect at everything, and this should be no different.  He’s a little awkward and fumbly, but he cares about Derek’s pleasure, wants Derek to know that he’s there and that he isn’t distracted from the task at hand, so his mouth never leaves Derek’s body.  During Stiles’ exploration of Derek’s back, Derek himself learns of an erogenous zone he didn’t know he had, just under the bottom of his left ribs, and when Stiles drags his tongue right there, he has to jerk back onto Stiles’ fingers, crying out.

“You okay?” Stiles asks.

“So—so good—oh, God, Stiles—”

“Fuck, you look so good like this.”

“Thought about this,” Derek tells him, squirming.  “Thought about you fucking me like this.”

“Yeah?  What’d you do while you thought of me?”  He bites carefully on the meat of Derek’s shoulder.  “C’mon, Der.  Sharing is caring.  What’d you do?”

It’s hard to think like this, much less actually communicate words that make sense.  Still, he spreads his legs a little further, tilts his hips up and says, “I would ride my fingers, imagining it was you.  I would—fuck, Stiles.  I would picture you underneath me, watching me take your cock.”

“Filthy fucking mouth.  You’re my favorite.  Ung.  I’m gonna buy you a vibe for Christmas, so you have something to sit on next time you’re alone and aching.”

Derek cries out just at the thought.  Another sickening thought creeps in with it, though—is that what Stiles did for Lydia?  Did he buy that for her?  Did he lose his virginity to her?  How many times did she fuck him?  Did he love her?

“Stop it,” Stiles scolds.  “Focus on me.  Whatever you’re thinking about, stop it.  It’s making you look sad.”

“Just—fuck me.”  He reaches back to hold onto the hair at the base of Stiles’ neck.  “Fuck me now before I come.”

Stiles presses his forehead against the back of Derek neck.  “Derek Hale, don’t for one fucking second think there’s anyone else I’d rather be here with right now.  Seriously, I’m going out of my mind right now with how bad I want you.”

“Okay, okay,” Derek says.  “I—good.  Good.  Now fuck me.”

Stiles turns him over, his fingers slipping out, and Derek makes a small noise.  “Relax.  I gotta get a condom.”

Which, of course, gives Derek plenty of time to kiss Stiles’ neck and throat and shoulders.  Stiles’ hands shake so much that he drops the condom three times before he pulls Derek into a positively filthy kiss.

“You’re so distracting.”

“Prove it.”

Stiles’ fingers are nothing compared to his cock.  Derek feels like he’s absolutely filled to the brim, Stiles’ body over his, one hand so carefully leading his cock inside.  He thinks he’s going to pass out with how good it feels, and his eyes do roll back in his head a little bit.

“Oh, God.”

That’s Stiles’ voice, cracking, and Derek moans out a laugh, kissing him weakly.  “Stiles.”

“Yeah—yeah—just.  Fuck, just give me a second.  I haven’t—fuck, Der, I’m so fucking crazy about you,” he says, and then he’s moving, and Derek isn’t sure what’s reality and what isn’t anymore.

He’s heard stories of awful first times, of it hurting so bad that they didn’t know what to do, of it being over in an instant and feeling absolutely nothing.  He kind of expected that for his first time, for it to be with someone he wasn’t necessarily in love with, for it to be less than impressive and overall underwhelming.  But this is ruining him.  Stiles Stilinski is ruining him for all other sexual encounters.

Stiles’ hands are hot on his skin, one keeping Derek’s thigh around his waist and the other on Derek’s arm, practically pinning him into place.  That hand moves to Derek’s, though, and he meets Stiles’ eyes for an instant.

“Shit,” Stiles hisses, closing his eyes.  “Shit, Der.”

“Don’t stop.”

“I may not have a choice—oh, God.”

It feels so good that Derek feels like his bones are melting.  He can’t do anything but hold on and sink into the mattress, let Stiles fuck him just—just there—

“Oh,” Derek startles, eyes flying open again.  Stiles is pushing his knees up, up close to his chest, and he can get deeper, move faster, and Derek sobs with it, fisting his hands into the sheet.  “Right fucking there—Stiles—”

Stiles comes, inevitably, but he makes a valiant effort at tugging Derek off.  He falls a little short, getting too distracted by his own orgasm to continue, and Derek takes over the job, holding onto Stiles’ shoulder while he strokes himself.

“Ah, fuck,” Stiles slurs.

“Literally three seconds away from coming,” Derek moans, hips jerking.  “Just—fuck—kiss me.”

Derek feels the world fall apart when he comes.  Stiles holds him through it, kisses him and touches him, and even when it’s over and he feels broken and shoved back together again, Stiles is there, wrapped around him.

“Sorry,” Stiles says with a small smile, pressed against the skin of his shoulder.  “That was over too quickly.  I wanted it to be—better.”

“It was perfect,” Derek argues.  “Hey, seriously.  But, a tip, if you want me to come without touching myself, I gotta be on my hands and knees.”

Stiles laughs.  “Noted.”

Long moments pass quietly.  Derek can still hear the party going on outside the bedroom, the music downstairs and the various people in the halls.  It’s a comforting sound, though.  There’s no deafening silence to make Derek over-think anything that just happened.  Instead, he’s warm and exhausted and it’s easy to curl up with Stiles and snooze.

He’s only half asleep when he feels Stiles getting out of the bed.

“Is Lydia gonna be mad?”

“Eh, I’ll wash the sheets.  She’ll get over it.”

“Are you going?”

“I’m gonna grab a washcloth.  Don’t move.”

Derek is conked out before Stiles gets back.

 

* * *

 

Derek is brushing his teeth when he hears the honk outside of his house.  It’s probably Laura’s boyfriend, driving by to pick her up for something, and he has half a mind to go drag her down the stairs so the whole house doesn’t have to deal with him laying on the horn instead of just getting out of the car and going to the door.

He spits, rinses, and checks his hair again before he grabs his backpack, and by that point the horn has honked three more times.

“Laura!” he calls.  “Will you go tell your boyfriend to shut up?”

His mom is sitting at the kitchen counter.  “Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Hi, Mom—bye, Mom.”

“Derek,” she says when he grabs for his bike helmet, “I don’t think you’ll be needing that.”

He blinks.  “Uh…  Why?”

“Because Laura isn’t here.”

It takes him a second.  It’s a miracle that he manages not to trip over his own feet on the way out the front door, and he hopes that it lasts because sure enough, there’s that baby-blue Jeep, sitting right in front of his house, Stiles Stilinski behind the front wheel.

“Took you long enough, Hale!” he shouts out the window.  “C’mon, we’re gonna be late for first.”

Derek approaches the car slowly.  “School doesn’t start for another half hour.”

“Yeah, I figured we could get a good spot in the lot and then make out before we had to go inside,” he says with a grin.

Derek nods considerately, looking at the car.  “My mom thinks you’re a fiend.”

“She’ll get over it.  She’s letting me take you, isn’t she?  So, you ready to go or what?”

Derek climbs into the passenger’s seat, tossing his backpack into the back with Stiles’.  “You remembered where I lived.”

He shrugs as he checks his mirror, backing up so he can spin around and approach the road head-on.  “I dropped you off here like twenty-four hours ago.  Now, c’mon, we got places to be.”

“Stiles.  Stop for a sec.”

He does, putting his foot on the brake and looking over.  “What’s up?”

Derek kisses him, grabbing his face and planting one right on his mouth.  It’s not even the slightest bit chaste, passionate and filthy and overall amazing.  Derek is grinning when they pull apart.  He would still be, seconds later, if it weren’t for his younger sister Cora and his Uncle Peter standing on the front porch, applauding him.

Derek sinks in the seat.  “Oh, God.  Drive.  Drive now.”

Stiles guffaws.  “Best boyfriend ever.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for horchatita394, who I told, "I want to write teen sterek where they have sex in Lydia's bathroom at a party and people are banging at the door cuz they hafta go but Derek's getting blown so he's just like uhhhhhhh." And she told me to do it.


End file.
